"what would you know about the subtle emanations of WOody's disincarnate spirit"

Enough to know that you haven't been talking to him. You are a silly bugger, Amos, tied to the endless cycle of emotional/mental reaction and counter-reaction like all the rest of us here. Having launched a boat that won't float by concocting a chimp sister with an obscene name for my pal Chongo, you are now bound by your ego to go on pretending that the boat does float forever and ever. I expect to still be hearing about Chinga from you a year from now. Two years from now. Five years from now. Till one of us dies. And for what? Well, one has to wonder, doesn't one?

I think it's because you just can't make your mind shut up and be silent. I have that problem too. ;-) So does everyone I know.

Oh, you are such a blind-eyed redneck, Little Hawk; what would you know about the subtle emanations of WOody's disincarnate spirit. Take nmy word for it, your disgruntlement is not grounds for me to worry much--my reach is far and deep in these matters and I ain't in need of no discerning remarks from a dude in bunny slippers.

The discarnate spirit of Woody Guthrie doesn't associate with cheap rumormongers of your ilk, Amos. I think you must have instead had an ecounter with the discarnate spirit of Huey Long or somebody like that.

I spoke to the disincarnate spirit of Woody Guthrie and he really likes that song about Chinga. He also says Chongo ought to change his wicked ways or he'll end up on a gurney in some cheap midnight emergency ward somewhere. To do that he would have to take responsibility for his sins, including abandoning his Mom and Sister when they were down on their luck, among other things.

As Chongo's running mate (for VP -- get your minds out of the gutter or I'll tell Mom!) I intend to post something about the scurrilous and reprehensible rumors and lies currently circulating just as soon as I have the time.

Chinga runs a cathouse chain Across th great Midwest The johns in old CHicago all Swear Chinga's is the best. The motor workers in Detroit They say there's no comparing To Chinga's on a Saturday, Where the sweet ladies show their wares At the early evening airing.

Now Chinga is a busy chimp, As tough as hard-boiled nails. She fought her way up to the top, Making payroll, bribe and bail. She always ran an honest shop, Men thought of her as MOther, But Chinga never told the boys Abouther good-for-nothing Hard drinking Chicago bum Of a little brother.

And whent he girls have all gone home, ANd the men have staggered out, Chinga ciounts the daily take ANd works the numbers out. Then she puts the money in the safe. And prays to her sainted mother. And pauses to look at a photograph OF her worthless little brother.

THere was a time in Africa When they were a loving family Chongo'd bring bananas down To Momma, quick and handy. They'd play wildly through the treetops there, A dancing chimp farrago Until a man in a Yellow Hat Showed up and caught them in a net And shipped them to Chicago.

Somehow they all escaped the zoo, And they found means of survival. Momma went to the Baptist church ANd sang about revival. Chinga started turning tricks And learned how tricks are played. But Chongo hit the bottle, man, Learned to shoot, and learned to scam ANd followed the gumshoe trade.

He never wrote or called his sister, SInce Momma passed away He never sent a letter home Or shared his daily pay. He left it all on Chinga's plate To pay for Momma's board, And he drank, and killed, in Chicago's slums WHile Chinga, having little choice, Walked the streets and whored.

Now Chinga in the moolah, boys, She's built a trade successful. She doesn't work on her back fer pay, And the johns aren't very stressful. So you can expect one of these days When his losing ways have panned out, That she'll see Chongo at her door, Bluffing and lying about his life, And looking for a handout.

Townes van Simiant, Cathouse Monkey Blues From the LP "Songs From the Chimp Line", New York, Darwin Record Selections, 1978

Now, now. You take your 'vitamins,' put on your jammies, and trundle off to beddy-by like a good boy. And don't drink too much water. You know you wet the bed if you drink too much and Amos sleeps on the bunk below you.

Just got in from hearing Juan Williams (of NPR and, oddly enough, FOX news) speak on campus. It was simply the best lecture on politics I've heard in ages, possibly in my lifetime. And I got a question in (written), first one, and he took 10 minutes to answer it. Wow! I took my 16-year-old son and he listened very intently. If ever he was to pay attention to a commencement speech in high school or college graduation, I'd want him to listen to this one. It was that good. A call to pay attention, to social and political action.

It was funny, he said people on campus today would approach and say they saw him on FOX, and others would walk up and say "I know your voice, it's nice to put a face with it." And he paused then noted that it was two completely different groups of people, the FOX viewers and the NPR listeners. No kidding!

Now I'm headed to bed. All of that skunk activity last night and bathing dogs off and on today wore me out. They still stink, but not like they did.

Cheny actually went to Chinga--first as a client, then later (int he way these things often go, oddly) as a supplicant. He begged her to help him give up his evil ways and get straight with America. She declined. "Getting straight must come from within," she said. "Any Dick knows that."

If only Bush had consulted with Mom. If only Reagan had. Monm knows BS and she knows economics. If only Henry Paulson had come to her and said, "Mom, its lookin' bad--what should we do??" But noooooooo.

Cheny was the one who stopped the idea, I am sure. If it hadn't have been for him, Paulson and Bush would have come here and gotten a hatful of first-rate advice.

Nah, the quality deteriorated. I used to like a good California Green Hungarian, for example, or something from Firestone Vineyards. Even some of the brandies were good. Now they're developing wines for specialty niches, like the new one for the geriatric set. A glass in the evening is supposed to let you sleep through the night -- it's called Pinot Moore. No quality control anymore.

Well Mom, I'm going to a wine tasting this evening. We're going to taste wines from Oregon, Idaho, Washington, British Columbia, and even Utah. But not from California, because California wines aren't what they used to be.

I've got one of the last bottles of a red from Missouri called "Hunter's Red". Sweetish, but excellent. Nauvoo is making wines again, and have been making some nice drys, but they still have a way to go. Michigan, of course, is still doing very well; so is upstate New York. Ohio and Indiana, even Kentucky, are producing some pretty fair products. Too bad about California wines, though.

Well, "Ascend yours" is of course a very different sentiment than the English "up yours" which has the tacit prefix "put it...". Nevertheless, since it is obvious you meant to send me an insult it, I shall accept your good intent and proceed to feel thoroughly insulted, as soon as I can remember how that is done. Give me a little time and I might even be able to drum up some really incandescent resentment and a deep desire for revenge. But probably not--I've kinda forgotten the trick of it.

YOUR Latin isn't very good. The exact translation is "Up yours!" (tuum = yours; ascendare = to go up, to ascend; imperative is "ascendo" or the same as the first person singular and blame the Romans for THAT). Remember what we used say back in The Day, "Homo sapiens non urinat in ventum."

Unfortunately, your Latin isin't quite up to snuff. "Up with you!!" is a sentiment I can accept gladly. Or, perhaps you meant "I rise with you!"??? ANd it's true, isn't it? We must all rise together, or we will surely wilt separately.

Heck, last week at a map conference on campus I met an investment banker and a real estate developer--who are both voting for Obama. At least one is a Republican, but he said Palin was the last straw. No way he wants her in office if McCain's cancer comes back or age otherwise catches up.

They're from Colorado, so they may have experienced the snow and the blow also.

Mormons above, Mormons below, Mormons harassing the state with Snow! They must be well connected to the Powers Up Above, But if the Episopalians were running the connection, They'd send love. Love, above, and love below A kinder thing to send than Snow.